Just Good Friends (18+)

Ch. 7: A pencil with a grip

"Stupid woman," I mumbled into Amelia's hair when she was finally back in our hotel room and in the safety of my arms. Her reply was a cute giggle.

"If you do anything like that again, I'm gonna strap you to the bed and keep you there for..."

My mind drifted off to places that only left me frustrated, but I couldn't help it.

"For?" she asked and let her head fall back so she could look at me, and slowly my lips cracked into a naughty smirk.

"Just strap you to the bed and keep you there. No time limit."

"Riiight..." she said and pulled away. I reluctantly let her go. I had so many questions about her day itching in the back of my mind, but I decided to take one at a time. The first one was simply:

"Are you hungry?"

"Yeah. I kind of skipped lunch, remember?" she muttered with a pout.

"Let's go out and see if we find something edible, then. Something that's not pizza. Maybe lasagna? Isn't that a German thing?"

"That's Italian, Michael," she said and rolled her eyes. I already knew that. I just wanted her to loosen up some and forget about the fucker that hurt her. She would never know why he did it, though. Just like she would never know about the angry texts I sent to this Carl-guy, telling him to stay the fuck away from my girlfriend. I mean, I was only doing her a favor. Amelia wasn't made to survive any long-distance relationship. And I wasn't made to survive if she moved to Germany. Tempting myself with the idea that she might open her eyes about me soon was just a bonus. Or was it a curse?

"Sushi, then?"

"That's not German either," she said and giggled, and I had to smile. I knew that, too.

"Bacalao?"

"Bac-a-what? Is that even food?"

"Fish," I said and felt overly self-satisfied with knowing something she didn't. "It's codfish. But that's not German cuisine either. It's Spanish."

"Then why did you suggest it? I think part of the experience of visiting a country is to find out what kind of food they have, and about their history and..."

I let Amelia talk while I placed my hand on her lower back to lead her towards the door, but she stopped me.

"I need to shower and change clothes first," she said.

"Why?"

"Because I can't go like this," she exclaimed with an expression that asked what level of insanity I was on. And just for fun, I leaned close and sniffed her shoulder like I was a dog.

"Nah. You don't smell that bad."

She scoffed and shoved me just the way she always did, and I chuckled when she pretended to be offended. I couldn't understand what was wrong with her outfit. A tank top underneath an unbuttoned shirt that was partially tucked into her jeans was fine in my eyes. More than fine. Especially since her shirt was hanging low on one arm and revealed her left shoulder. I wanted to believe she did it to tempt me, and damn, if it didn't work. The urge to kiss her there made my jaw hurt from gritting my teeth too hard. It was crazy. But it was a craziness I'd grown addicted to. It was like edging myself until my dick hurt, yet denying myself to tip over the edge, like I was living in a chronic state of agonizing pre-orgasm. And the strange part was that I didn't want it to change.

"Okay, fine. If you want this so badly to be a date, I'll wait," I said and walked over to sit on the only armchair in the room. One that, from the moment I saw it, had me envision her naked with her legs spread wide open on the armrests simply because of how comfortable it looked. I swallowed and stared at the floor.